Mirror Mirror On the Wall
by Aqua Zephyrus
Summary: As if being alone in Pakistan wasn't enough, he was getting hallucinations of his old nemesis. And those were far worse than the nightmares.


**I've been meaning to do a hallucination fic for some time now. But this one has a little salt in the wound and plants him in Pakistan as well. Mainly because I'm a jerk. Also implies ****_Hotch/Reid_**** slash, so you've been warned.**

**Blah blah, own nothing, good times.**

* * *

_There is no ghost so difficult to lay as the ghost of an injury. -Alexander Smith_

* * *

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

The water faucet was turned to cold as Aaron leaned over the sink, cupping his hands and pooling the water in them before splashing it on his face. He repeated the motion and grabbed a wash towel, wiping his face and looking at his reflection in the mirror. His hand touched the growing scruff on his chin and cheeks. No razor in Pakistan- they probably wouldn't have much time to shave, and it could be used as a weapon if someone did go off the deep end.

He'd definitely seen better days. Between the beard and those increasingly gaunt features... the unit chief stood over the faucet for a few minutes, eyes closed and head down. Trying to clear his mind for another night of attempted sleep, he stood up finally and heard a laugh. Aaron frowned. "Someone there?"

"_Maybe_." The voice was taunting, familiar. One he had heard many, many other times in his life, and too many in the nightmares that still plagued him even a year and a half later. "_Are you crazy enough to listen to your mind telling you I'm dead... or listen to that voice that seems to scare the shit out of you at every chance it can?_"

Aaron didn't budge from the sink. His hands were still splayed on the counter, and he didn't make a sound as he listened to the voice in his mind. He bit his lower lip and inhaled deeply. The want to answer that voice was there, but- no. He was crazy, right? It was just in his head, wasn't it?

"_You know why you're here? Because you failed. Because you couldn't find her- your team couldn't find her either. The FBI knows you're cracking, and they want to see you break down. Right here, in this bathroom. From the stress, the pain of no Jack... the pain of knowing she's out there, and you can't tell a single soul about how miserable you really are. But don't worry. I see it._" It laughed harshly. "_How you drink until you can't even get out of the leather chair until two AM. How you get up and stumble to the bedroom for three more restless hours until you have to go to work. Face the music_."

The hands began to slowly curl into fists, and Aaron found himself tensing. Significantly tensing as he reached for the small cup that was used for rinsing his mouth out. He took hold of it and bit on his lip harder. Quiet as anything. "Shut up."

"_How you can't save even yourself._"

That got Aaron to look up in the mirror and- no. No, it couldn't be. It couldn't be George Foyet standing behind him. With a gun aimed at him and that glint in his eyes. Lips twitched into the smallest of smiles, but one of malice. "_How you should've made the deal. And you didn't because you're the most stubborn bastard the FBI ever had._"

The unit chief threw the glass at the mirror with a snarl in a fit of anger, and he immediately regretted it. The cup clanged to the mirror, then the countertop and rolled to the floor. It made barely a crack in the glass, but there was enough of a cut in the mirror that if a soldier walked in right then, there'd be a distortion in their reflection. When Aaron looked into it, Foyet's image was gone, but the laugh still rang in his ears.

He didn't move, taking deep breathes and continuing to stare at his reflection in the broken mirror. He couldn't tell anyone about this. About what he kept seeing in the mirror.

Then again, how could he. Not like he had anyone there to talk to about it.

Aaron's hand finally shifted slowly to the edge of the counter, grabbing his dog tags and slipping them over his head. They hung easily around his neck, and the hand grasped at them. He swallowed hard again and took a shuddering breath. He had to get home- to see his son again. To feel those arms around his body. To give those dog tags to his boyfriend. To his partner.

To finally tell someone about these hallucinations and pray he wasn't going insane.


End file.
